


O, Death

by RikkuShinra



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Death, End of the World, Gen, World of Ruin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 17:55:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20178358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RikkuShinra/pseuds/RikkuShinra
Summary: O, DeathO, DeathO, DeathWon't you spare me over 'til another year.Prompt: write a story to the songO, Deathby Jen Titus.





	O, Death

The first signs of Gralea's last hope is far in the murky grey distance, the drop ship humming loudly over the roars and groans of Eos and her infestation. It's a rare sight, long gone are the red tinged engines replaced with a vibrant blue that reminds Cor of the deep hue of the Galdin harbor. 

Unlike the crowd that has gathered below to watch in horrific fascination, Cor's face pinches. The fine age lines gain shadows, his lips disappear into a thin line and already squinting eyes nearly disappear in to a disgusted frown. He holds no real hate for the remnants of the Empire, only for the assistance they offered in souring the paradise that flourished under Regis. 

For the loss of the son and father. 

Over head the drop ship whirls. It's still high enough that it's but a blue speck against ghastly green clouds, yet the large lights that are fixed on the bottom floor the land below with bright holy light.

Unbefitting. 

It lands on a high ridge, shining into the rocky shards of meteor. The bowl sparkles, the light refracting in a multitude of directions and for the first time in years the sky breaks a little as that light pierces the miasma in the air. Through the pitch, blue winks then disappears in a violent rush. Not even the light can keep penetrating the darkness. Somehow they have managed in Gralea, Cor knows how and by whom has fed their luck. 

He meets the soldiers, that's what they have all become Hunters, soldiers, lambs to the slaughter, at headquarters. Monica, Dustin and Iris standing off to the side as the last of the Empire, the ones that love and bleed for their country, march into the square.

From the first to the last, it is not a normal refreshment of troops from the dwindling Niflheim populace. 

Three hand hewn coffins, master crafted and nailed shut with the Imperial crest burned onto the top and side reminds them of the fine line walked by all. Pushing to the front of the crowd, Cor comes to stand beside Monica and Iris as the Kingsglaive stand stoic and morose behind the officers. 

Three this year. 

Three out of the last one hundred and seventy five. 

Last month four. 

Last year twenty. 

Their numbers have dwindled and like their country they too shall soon perish in the dark night. 

Iris breaks away, her brother and friends, her _King_ is out there fighting this miss guided tyranny, only to hesitate behind their commander. 

"Commander Tummelt." Cor can feel Monica tense beside him, Dustin shifting to cross his arms. Iris isn't a little girl any more, they know this, so does Gladiolus and that's why she is here in his stead, a representative of Insomnia's last noble house, the last of the royal court. Yet, like two overly protective parents, with all rights given Iris' young age, Dustin and Monica hover. Even Cor feels his arm tense, waiting to draw his katana as the man turns and gives Iris a tired smile. Cor is sure if Iris would let him, Loqi's head would take up residence on her shoulder and sleep,Cor looks at all the Gralean refugees they are all smiling, crying, hugging and talking. A family rejoined at last. The women, children and the elderly who had cried over fashioned oak now hug those who had returned whole. Grateful that some have made it back alive. "Would you join us for dinner?" 

Loqi's smile falls and he's gained fifteen years in ten seconds. 

Dinner is a quiet affair. Unlike other guest, Loqi sleeps with a pillow pulled over his head, body curled into a child's pose conveniently out of the way until the morning call of an alarm clock or the first tremors of PTSD induced anxiety wake him up. Monica nor Dustin say anything but Iris' puffy eyes tell all. 

Then it is back to the darkness and deamons. Cor watches as workers load a copious amount of supplies onto the drop ship, Cor makes his way over standing to Loqi's left as the General-turned hunter double checks the ship's cargo. 

"You're not taking more with you?"

Loqi shakes his head unsure if Cor means human or food commodities. Either way he has enough. So he tucks the clipboard under his arm, replacing the layers of genetically engineered oranges into the crate. "If I asked for more men, then who am I saving?" The clipboard lands on the crate with a loud snap, Loqi turning. His brows join,cheeks tinting red. He's always been unmanageable, more playful than serious and Cor has always equated it to age, but it's only been three years since the world ended and this nightmare began, but now he sees himself in his self proclaimed rival. "What type of leader would I be to ask people to willingly go to their deaths for something that no longer exists?"

Loqi stares hard, searching the passive glare that Cor seems to always have, even with graying hair Cor is Cor‐strong, controlled-a military man through thick and thin. Loqi looks away breaking the heated gaze, "we lost everything." His face screws up, the disappointment at the loss of life and home raw. Cor knows the feeling well, his home in ruins, his life cast in the winds of change to the lowest point he had never considered. Misery loves company. 

In the distance, a bell chimes. Loqi glances at his watch then back to Cor. "Unless your coming with us Marshall, get off."

Cor steps back with a nod. Turning, his eyes fall to the distant rim of the crater where a pyre burns. Unlike the various cemeteries that cover grassy knolls in Insomnia, Gralea and thus the refugees do not bury their dead. An ancient Solheim tradition, burning the dead to release their earthen bound souls and ensuring they do not join the ranks of the deamonic legions, passed down through generations unchanged. 

The grey dust left behind is filled with golden bobbles and the chants of an ancient civilization on the edge doomed to follow in the path they most coveted. With each gust of wind the embers flare to life, the yawning groans of Eos died this close to the city. For a brief moment the pyre area is flooded with glowing light, any deamons that dare to come close are scorched to oblivion, as the dropship raises into the sky and disappears once more into the distance. 

As Cor heads back towards the vestiges of civilization, he hums the words the refugees sang playing in his head. 

_ O, Death _

_ O, Death _

_ O, Death _

_ Won't you spare me over 'til another year. _


End file.
